The Metal Man: An Account of a WW2 Nazi Cyborg (18 page)

That black humor… That slight smile twisting the bloodless lips… Weber abruptly stopped his intended attack on Schroder, and instead walked over to stand in front of his commanding officer.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said quietly, at once wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his camouflage overalls. ‘It’s – it’s good to see you again.’

‘Yes,’ said Amsel instinctively. ‘It is.’

Brucker’s internal motors whined as he stood up. The woman with the baby now approached him, carrying a piece of shattered mirror she’d found somewhere. She hesitantly held it in front of Brucker’s face.

Brucker stared at his reflection with his artificial eyes. Again, a hush fell over the people watching, silencing the excited chatter which had started with the unveiling of the Metal Man’s face.

Then Brucker simply nodded, and the woman lowered the piece of mirror.

Brucker looked at Mayer and the three other soldiers.

‘What happened to Ackermann, and his men?’ he asked.

‘We deserted his unit, sir,’ returned Mayer. ‘He was going to shoot these five people here’ – Mayer gestured at the Poles stood nearby with his hand – ‘in cold blood. That old trick of claiming they were ‘partisans’. We took these Poles and just walked away.’

‘‘That old trick’…?’ repeated Brucker, the expression on his recreated face one almost of confusion.

Then – ‘Yes, I remember what you mean, now.’

‘Sir… One thing I have to ask…’ began Mayer cautiously. ‘What happened… in that room in the burning house? Ackermann said a woman – stabbed you…’

‘Ackermann stabbed me,’ returned Brucker, in what was almost a sigh. ‘My back was turned and he stuck the knife in once, twice… I don’t know how many times. It is one of those memories I am having trouble recalling exactly. There are many such memories.’

Weber again wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Bach swore softly. Amsel shook his head and spat on the ground, saying –

‘That son of a bitch… I knew it – I
knew
it…’

‘We can report what happened, when we get back into Germany,’ declared Mayer grimly.

‘You mean to leave these people behind?’ asked Brucker evenly, looking around him at the gathered inmates.

‘I can’t see what good we’re going to do them by remaining here, sir. The Russians will be here within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, in any case. They’ll look after these people better than we could hope to.’

‘Yes – perhaps you’re right, Mayer,’ nodded Brucker.

‘The Russians mustn’t get hold of you, either,’ Schroder told his creation. ‘But – for me to return to Germany, now… I am a half-Jew. I mean, I may as well just remain in this camp…’

‘You can do as you please,’ said Weber curtly, who was seeing only the man who’d carved up his former commanding officer’s body, to use pieces of the brain and God knows what else as so many spare parts for…

For whatever Brucker was now.

The men started, the sound of squealing tank tracks coming suddenly from outside the front of the camp.

‘Russians?’ said Weber, his face hard. He began quickly checking over his machinegun.

‘Wait,’ said Mayer. ‘Sounds like only a couple of vehicles – three or four at the most. I don’t get it…’

The group consisting of the four SS soldiers, Brucker, Schroder, the five Poles and the accompanying inmates, had already moved to behind the large, brick-built building that was next to where the rail-track leading into the camp terminated. 

Weber moved quickly, skirting round the side of the brick-built building. He returned in a few moments.

‘It’s Ackermann,’ he informed Mayer. ‘Ackermann and the rest of his unit. Got the three tanks spread out in a line. Looks like they’re getting set to blast this camp to kingdom come. Another soft target, I guess – their swansong before they head back over the border into Germany.’

Mayer nodded – and then looked directly at Brucker. 

‘So – what do we do, sir?’ he asked his resurrected commanding officer. 

29

Ackermann’s unit had found this camp without any difficulty. Now they took notice of the barbed-wire fences and the many huts and buildings behind these fences, but it stirred nothing within them.

A couple of SS troopers, using binoculars, observed a few inmates shrinking away further inside the camp, obviously trying to hide.

The SS troopers reported this to Ackermann.

‘Let them just try to hide from the shells these tanks are about to fire – and then we’ll go straight in and tear whatever’s left of this place to pieces,’ growled Ackermann.

The tank commanders stood from the top of the turret of each tank, looking to Ackermann to give the order to unleash their lethal salvo. Although there were only seven shells in total, that would still be sufficient to cause plentiful devastation.

Then they could just drive straight in, demolishing anything in their path, the SS troopers fanning out behind them and shooting anyone they came across. It was hardly as though they’d meet with any resistance, in any case – not in a place like this…

The tanks’ engines rumbled, as Ackermann slowly raised his right arm. When he brought it down, the tanks would commence shelling and –

‘
Sir
!’ called out one of the SS troopers, who’d been scanning the front of the camp through binoculars.

But now Ackermann could see what had left the courtyard area just inside the camp’s main entrance, and was walking in that curiously ‘steady’ manner towards them.

But – something was…

Wrong –

‘He’s got a face – the Metal Man has got a face!’ spluttered the SS trooper holding the binoculars. ‘He’s
human
…’

Then, as the trooper again put the binoculars to his eyes, he uttered what was almost a shriek.

‘No – Christ, no way…’ he moaned. ‘He’s
dead
…’

Ackermann opened his mouth, to demand to know what the man meant. Then he decided that it was simplest if he just took a closer look for himself. So he put his own binoculars to his eyes –

And was instantly transported to some shadowy, nightmare world, where a man he’d murdered months before now walked towards him with a new body of metal. Only the face remained the same – and yet also somehow
different
…

‘Ackermann!’ called out the apparition now. Lieutenant Colonel Karl Brucker – the Metal Man –
whoever the hell this was
– had raised his voice to be heard above the fearsome racket of the tanks; but there was no emotion at all contained within this voice.

And that somehow made it sound even
worse…

The troopers gathered behind the tanks had started to chatter, sharing the two pairs of binoculars and so taking it in turns to take disbelieving looks at the SS officer whose dead, blood-covered body most of them had observed months before...

‘Shut up,’ growled Ackermann, trying desperately to keep both his voice and his thoughts steady. ‘Just shut up. This is some sort of trick, that’s all. Some foul experiment…’

Yes – already he was starting to recover himself. To take notice of certain important details. Such as the fact that the Metal Man wasn’t carrying that huge weapon of his. It seemed as though he was walking over to talk –

To
talk…

To tell Ackermann’s men, perhaps, just what had really taken place that day in the Polish village with the building on fire…

‘
Sir
!’ called out one of his men again, who was now using one pair of binoculars to look past the Metal Man and again into the camp. ‘I can see one of Brucker’s men – one of the ones who deserted the other day…’

Ackermann realized he had to act quickly. Perhaps the Metal Man – if
he
still possessed some memory of
his
previous life as Karl Brucker – had already informed the man named Mayer and the three others presumably skulking within this camp of just how Brucker had met his end.

And now the Metal Man was walking over, possibly to give Ackermann’s men the very same information…?

How would they react to that – exactly?

‘It’s a trap!’ yelled Ackermann suddenly. ‘They’ve sided with the
kikes –
remember how the Metal Man behaved back at that ghetto?’

As the troopers stood behind the three tanks that were spread out in a line exchanged confused glances, Ackermann called out to the commander of the central tank –

‘Ram it – ram
him
! Don’t let him get near us!’

The tank commander turned to stare perplexed at his officer.

‘
Now
!’ demanded Ackermann, his narrow wolf-eyes blazing with hatred and fear.

The tank commander abruptly disappeared inside his vehicle and closed the turret hatch. A moment later the tank started forward, gaining speed as it headed directly towards the Metal Man.

‘Fire –
fire
!’ Ackermann bellowed at the two other tank commanders. They also disappeared back inside the vehicles – and a few moments later the first shell shot into the camp and exploded, as these tanks also started to rumble forwards.

30

‘Shit!’ shouted Weber, as nearby a large building disintegrated into a ball of flame and flying debris.

‘Everyone – get back, right to the back of the camp!’ called out Mayer then.

With Arnold and several others hurriedly translating, the inmates began to follow Mayer’s instructions. They moved almost as one, in a large crowd, the stronger ones trying to support the weaker. Getting rid of his bulky radio set, Amsel then put one arm around the waist of the woman carrying the baby, helping her on. 

Then another explosion, near the edge of the group. Several inmates fell down; two did not then move, while the others began moaning, clearly injured. Amsel left the woman carrying the baby to run over to them, checking them over, trying to help one man get back up.

‘It’s no good, Amsel,’ yelled Mayer. ‘We have to leave them – get these others out of here, and into the forest behind – we’ll only be able to lose Ackermann’s unit that way…’

Then another shell landed in almost the same place as the last one had. Mayer stared in disbelief as Amsel’s body described a crazy cartwheel in the air. Then Mayer was running, heading towards the place where the stocky radioman had landed…

31

It was all over. Bach knew that. Now it was just every man for himself. He remained near the front of the camp, taking cover behind the various structures, emerging for a split-second to give quick bursts of fire at the SS troopers running behind the tanks.

Bach pressed his trigger only when he thought he had a good shot – ammunition was too scarce to do otherwise – but still he was certain he’d not actually hit anyone as yet...

Those German SS troopers. Men from the same country, the same army as himself – even their uniform identical. But still (appreciated Bach), men who were wholly
different
from himself…

It had been Brucker’s decision – if that metal thing actually
was
still Brucker – not to take that huge gun of his when he’d walked out there. He’d said he’d talk with Ackermann, persuade him and his unit just to drive on. Try to avert yet more bloodshed that way. If he took his gun, said Brucker, Ackermann might just get the wrong idea as he approached.